Companions
by MythicDragonRider
Summary: When Clara and John disappear, with no traces except a vague note, the TARDIS is thrust into a parallel world, and the Doctor is introduced to a modern Sherlock Holmes. Inside a 3-day time limit, they must work together to solve the mystery of their companions disappearance, while they uncover traces of a bigger conspiracy at large. T for occasional violence. ON HIATUS
1. Prolouge

**Hey Guys!**

 **Wholock Crossovers! There are so many, aren't there? The two shows seem to be made for each other (which may actually be true, considering Moffat). Anyway, I am writing one! YAY! Keep in mind I have never written Doctor Who, Sherlock or Wholock FanFiction before, so go easy on me. I'll just be clarifying a few things, like always.**

 **1\. This will have multiple chapters (that much is obvious).**

 **2\. Like always, no uploading schedule. WOOHOO!**

 **3\. It is only Wholock. Not Superwholock. Just Wholock.**

 **4\. This will be set in the current Clara and 12 era, and pre-Reichenbach. Sorry if mentioning that word made you burst into tears.**

 **5\. This will contain spoilers, mostly for Doctor Who, since the major spoilers for Sherlock come after the R-, oops, the second season. Also some foreshadowing for -ahem- the second season.**

 **6\. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but pure hate will be ignored.**

 **7\. I'm not going to ship anyone in this FanFiction to keep it neutral and make sure I don't divert anyone from enjoying it. It will be as ship-neutral as the shows.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Prologue

Doctor's P.O.V

The Doctor was alone. At least, for the time being. Clara was currently at a family get-together, and therefore he sat by himself listening to the sounds of the TARDIS. Of course, he could just travel forward in time to when it was over, but something had been bothering him for a long time. Something he wasn't prone to mention to his companion until he had more details about the subject. The time lord had noticed that all of the recent attempted invasions of Earth or attacks have been very rare, and even when they did happen, they seemed half-hearted. It was annoying him that he wasn't even close to the answer. Nothing had changed since the recent attacks and the old ones, at least, nothing significant. He supposed it was a good thing that the Earth was no longer under any immediate threat, so that he could shift his focus to other planets, but it annoyed him horribly that the mystery was unsolved.

Even worse, they seemed to become less and less common as the time went on. There had been no attack on Earth for months. It was possible that he was scaring them away, but he felt that it was bigger. Another overbearing race or entity could be stopping others from attempted invasion, to try taking Earth themselves. And anything that could stop so many races was very overbearing indeed. He pushed aside the matter for later. It would have to wait. Well, it didn't necessarily have to, as he had a time machine, but he was bored, and some action could possibly help him think.

He ran up to the console and input the time and place Clara had told him to pick her up. The TARDIS materialized, and he ran up to the door. Clara was waiting outside, in an alleyway. They had both agreed appearing in front of her house might frighten an observer, and they would have to deal with an amount of ruckus that could easily be avoided. She was wearing a short-sleeved light green dress that went down to her thighs, a black unbuttoned cardigan, black high heels and a silver necklace with a small emerald inside. Overall, she looked quite stunning.

"So, how was it?" the Doctor asked.

"Same old boring human chit-chat. What where you doing before this?" she replied.

"Saying goodbye to you."

She grinned, "I wish we could've switched places."

"Did you really want a stranger turning up at a family reunion claiming they were filling in for Clara?"

"Valid argument."  
He held out his hand, and she took it, entering the TARDIS. She sat down immediately, exhausted.

"So, I assume you've already noticed the alien attacks on Earth getting progressively rarer," she said causally.

He paused, then replied cautiously, "Of course."

"Any theories?"

"Many."

"Care sharing them?"

"Nope."

She huffed, "Why not?"

"You probably already know them," he replied quickly, then jumped up to the TARDIS console and starting flying it, "Anyway, care for an adventure? I know a great alien hotspot. You should probably change into some more suitable clothes, too."

"I've a feeling you're avoiding that question," she answered incredulously, "but I'll get changed just so I'm in more comfortable clothes while interrogating you."

The brunette walked briskly out of the room. The Doctor sighed. He hated lying to Clara, but he needed more time to brood, and besides, his theory would probably scare her.  
His thoughts were interrupted by Clara screaming, "Doctor!"

He ran to the room he had seen Clara enter and ripped open the door, but there was no sign of Clara. Only a note slowly floating down to the floor.

* * *

Sherlock's P.O.V

Sherlock Holmes was bored. That much was obvious. They hadn't had a good case in days, and it was having it's affect on him.  
Since Mrs Hudson had taken his gun away to stop him shooting at the wall, he was lying upside-down from his armchair, watching John writing on his blog.

"Are you still writing about that last case? It was three days ago," Sherlock asked rudely.

"Yes, in fact, I am. Anyway, it was longer than usual," John replied, irritated by his flatmate's incompetence.

Sherlock sighed, "Yes, but I'm bored. Look for a good case."

"You've been saying you're bored for the past three days. I'll look for a case when I've finished writing about this one."

"What are you calling it, anyway?"

"The Christmas Murders."

"But it's completely out of season!"

"That's what the murders were about!"

He got out of the armchair, then put on his coat and opened the door.  
"Where are you going?" John asked, curious.

"If there's no good cases, might as well get the groceries."

"You're sulking."

Sherlock didn't reply and closed the door behind him. He walked down the stairs and out the door. It was a particularly warm evening, as it was currently Summer. As he had said earlier, completely out of season for Christmas-themed murders. At least it had been a good case. But, good cases had recently been on the decline, and Sherlock had made a great ruckus about it. He was getting bored more frequently, and that was never a good thing.

He furrowed his brow. Something was wrong. He was not sure what, but something was drawing him back to 221B. Suddenly, an inescapable feeling of dread filled him, and he rushed back inside the apartment. And he saw something. Something even the world's only consulting detective couldn't solve on his own.

John was gone, and the only trace of his disappearance was a note drifting down to the ground.

* * *

 **So, how was it?  
Pretty bad, probably :/**

 **I have a feeling that the pacing is a bit fast...**

 **It took me a long time to write this, and I had a less potent equivalent of writer's block while doing it, so hopefully I'll get the next one out soon.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey Guys!  
**

 **Writing this the day after I published the first one.  
Fighting procrastination!**

 **Yesterday, I accidentally said "post-Reichenbach" instead of "pre-Reichenbach". I have fixed it now, but it is _pre-Reichenbach._ **

**Anyway, since it's hasn't been very long since the prologue, I currently have very little to no feedback, so I won't be saying anything else here.**

 **Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Chapter 1

Doctor's P.O.V

The Doctor read the note with shaking hands, hardly believing that Clara had been kidnapped in the TARDIS.

 _Doctor._

 _We have Clara.  
If you try to break into my establishment and save her, she will die.  
If you fail to solve my puzzle in 3 days, she will die._

 _I have provided a little help.  
This will lead you to him, and then your time limit will begin:  
_

 ** _221B_**

 _Regards, your secret admirer._

As he calmed himself down, he reasoned that he would play this little game. But only to save Clara. He couldn't lose another one on his adventures. When Clara leaves the TARDIS for the last time, it would be under her own free will. She would die a normal human death, and not one by the hands of an alien, or some other creature.

221B. The first thing that came to his mind was the Sherlock Holmes novels. He ran into back into the control room, and then took a few turns until he arrived in the library. He quickly located the Sherlock Holmes novels, and pulled out a thin book called, "The Final Problem", which pictured two men fighting on the edge of a waterfall. Flicking through it, there was no note, letter or anything that could be part of a puzzle. He growled in frustration, then tore another book of the shelf, which was called, "A Study in Scarlet". He inspected it hungrily, looking for an answer or even a fragment of a clue. Nothing.

The Doctor was going to look through more books, but suddenly the TARDIS shook, and he knew something was interrupting it's signal. He hastily shoved them into his coat pockets, where they they stuck out obviously, and he ran back to the console room, and tried to stabilize it, but a shower of sparks flew out of the console, and hit him. The blast knocked him back, and the time lord lost consciousness.

* * *

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was he had a headache. A bad one. Then he remembered the recent events inside the TARDIS, and that made him get off the floor. "The Final Problem" fell to the ground, and he stuffed it back into his pocket. The gallifreyan had a feeling he would need it later. Running up to the console, he saw that where the date and place should be was just a blank screen. He ran up to the door and opened it slightly. Outside was an inconspicuous London alleyway. He was cautious, but his worry for Clara overrode that caution, and he stepped out. Once he was in the alleyway, he knew this wasn't London. Something was off... ...something was different.

Suddenly, the TARDIS began to disappear. That whoosing, wheezing sound filled the quiet space, and he turned around immediately. "No no no no no no NO!" the Doctor lunged for his time machine, hands outstretched. He slammed against the alley wall, and he was stranded. On Earth. With no idea where Clara was, and how to save her. He put his head in his hands. Then, he looked at the note again, remembering something. It was crumpled in his hand from his grip, and as he unfolded it, he shook all over.

 _This will lead you to him, and then your time limit will begin_

Of course. The 3 days hadn't started yet. Some of the tension that had been building up inside him released, and he thought clearly for the first time since Clara disappeared. No, she was kidnapped, and he was the only one who could save her. Also, what did they mean by "him"? "I have provided help"... A theory formed in his mind, a extremely improbable one, and he dismissed it as quickly as it had come into his head.

 ** _221B_**

It echoed through his head again and again. What did it mean? Something about Sherlock Holmes. Something he was missing.  
Wait a minute... That feeling he had gotten when had stepped out the TARDIS. That something wasn't right. Where on Earth was he?  
He stepped out the alleyway, and saw a particularly normal London street. People were walking past, cabs were driving by, birds were dotting the sky. It was a warm day, suggesting it was Summer. He narrowed his eyes. 221B could fit a lot of places, but the one on Baker Street was certainly the most well-known. It had a "Sherlock Holmes Museum", or something like that. Maybe the note-writer was referring to the place, not the novels.

The Doctor put his hands in his pockets. He had a little spare change from when he had brought Clara coffee after a particularly bad day.

"Taxi!" he called, raising his hand. A black cab pulled up, and he got in.

The cabbie asked, "Destination?"

"221B Baker Street."

* * *

Sherlock's P.O.V

For once, the world's only consulting detective didn't have any theories on what had happened. He read the note, scared out of his wits.

 _Sherlock._

 _We have John.  
_

 _If you try to break into my establishment and save him, he will die.  
If you fail to solve my puzzle in 3 days, he will die._

 _I have provided a little help.  
This will lead you to him, and then your time limit will begin:  
_

 _ **Police Box**_

 _Regards, your secret admirer._

Police box? What on Earth was that supposed to mean? He was visibly shaking. This was not how it was supposed to be. It was impossible. How could someone break into their flat, kidnap John (who was skilled at combat), and leave within a minute leaving no trace except a note, or making any noise whatsoever. What was he to do? He had 3 days to solve a puzzle (when he found whatever "help" this kidnapper had provided), and John's life was on the line. What was he supposed to say when someone asked where John was?  
"Oh, he's been kidnapped by a mystery assailant who left no trace but a note and John will die in 3 days if I don't solve a puzzle with someone I whom not only have no idea where they are, or even their gender, appearance or name. Care for a cup of tea?"  
Where was Mrs. Hudson, anyway? She should be here. If she was here, she was the witness to a kidnapping. At least, the closest thing to a witness this case was going to get. Should he even tell anyone? Should he work on it himself? This promised "help" will probably be of no use whatsoever.

The detective gritted his teeth. He wouldn't get anywhere thinking like that. He needed to calm down. A cigarette would be very helpful right now, but John had hidden them. He thought wistfully, now John is hidden himself. To find him, he needed to put all his energy on this case. And to do that, he needed whoever was promised as "help" right now!

Firstly, he'd need some protection. He needed a gun. Mrs Hudson had taken his, but John had put his gun in his room. He stormed up the stairs and into John's room, then grabbed the black handgun resting on the chest of drawers. He put it in his coat, and although it still had ammo in it, he grabbed extra, just in case. Now that he had ample protection, he went to the door and put his hand on the knob, and pushed it open. He was going to save John before anyone knew he was gone.

* * *

 **Okay, how was it?  
And, yes, I did copy-paste the notes and changed up the information. That gives a picture of how lazy I am.**

 **I feel quite warm at how Sherlock, who was normally calm and collected, started to panic when his blogger was gone. Although I don't necessarily ship them, I feel that they have a good relationship going on. At least before the Rei- WAIT I CAN'T SAY THAT WORD.**

 **Hope you enjoyed ;)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey Guys!**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed and followed my story! You don't know how much I appreciate you and your support!  
** **Sorry this one is late, but I did warn you I would upload whenever I wanted...**

 **Anyway, they finally meet!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 2

Doctor's P.O.V

The first time the Doctor ran into Sherlock Holmes, he was shocked, to say the least. After knocking at the curiously bare door of 221B Baker Street with no reply, he had no idea what to do or where to go. Maybe he'd never find this "help" he was so promised. He had started to panic, hearts beating fast.  
Sherlock Holmes, who had looked back and seen a curious man knocking on his door, had first thought it was case that he didn't have the time to solve. But, at a second glance, he realized he could glean little to nothing from him while making his deductions. Who on Earth was he? He was going to ignore him and continue his ongoing search for John, but he had the same compelling feeling to meet him as he had when he had re-entered the apartment to find a note. So, suspicious that this man could lead him to John, he had walked up.

The Doctor had looked up to see a man in a long black coat, a blue scarf and polished black shoes. He was going to dismiss him to continue his brooding, when the man said, "Are you going to say why you are visiting 221B?"

The Doctor looked at him suspiciously, "I would ask the same."

"What do you mean? I live here."

He narrowed his eyes, "You... ...live here?"

"Yes. Of course I do. Don't you know the face of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Sherlock... ...Holmes?"

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes. Anyway, who are you? I can barely deduce anything about you."

"But you're not supposed to exist..."

Sherlock huffed, "What do you mean, I'm not supposed to exist?"

The time lord pulled _"_ A Study in Scarlet" and shoved it in Holmes' face, wordless. The consulting detective looked suspiciously at it, snatched it out of the Doctors hand, then looked at the title. His eyes widened, then he opened it hastily. He flicked through it and looked at the Doctor with a mix of shock and suspicion.

"Where did you get this? It mirrors the first case John and I solved almost perfectly. Did you write it? If you didn't, who did?"

The Doctor was confused, then had an idea, "Let's discuss this inside. I... ...have a theory."

Sherlock glanced at him suspiciously, then nodded and opened the door, letting him in. The apartment was bare, like a normal London apartment, which made the Doctor's theory even more relevant. They walked upstairs, sat down and Sherlock said impatiently, "Well? Are you going to share this 'theory' or not?"

"Yes. Well, there is something I need to tell you first."  
Sherlock raised and eyebrow, "And what is that?"  
The gallifreyian sighed, "Do you believe in aliens?"  
"Of course I don't. 'Supernatural beings' and 'aliens' are all science fiction."

"You may have to rethink that judgement."  
"You're expecting me to believe they actually exist?"  
"Well, they do. Maybe not in this world, though."  
"This world?"

The Doctor gritted his teeth and brought out "The Final Problem", showed it to Sherlock and pointed at Arthur Conan Doyle's name at the bottom.

"In my 'world'," the Doctor used air quotations, "There are novels written about the famous Sherlock Holmes. He is a household name. When you think detective, you think him. But, it seems that in this 'world', the literature about your plights don't exist, but you do."

The detective sat back in his chair, "Even if this was all true, why are you acting so calm about it? The tone is your voice suggests you are going down to the corner store for a carton of milk."

"Well. I've dealt with this stuff before. A pocket universe once, and one of my old companions now lives..." the time lord's voice faltered.

"Are you some sort of alien or something?" Sherlock scoffed.  
The Doctor didn't answer.

"You've got to be joking!"  
"You're a famous detective. You can tell I'm not joking."

Sherlock sighed, "Okay, then. Prove it. I'll be willing to believe."  
The gallifreyian snatched the note he found out of his pocket and laid it plainly on the small side table. The consulting detective looked at it, furrowed his brow, then laid his note on the table.

They locked eyes, and they shared a silent understanding that they would have to work together. Suddenly, they heard a bang, and they raced to the kitchen. A single note floated down. Sherlock grabbed it, and read it early.

 _Now that you two are acquainted, your time limit will begin._

 _I suppose you want your next hint:  
 **Angels**_

 _With love, your secret admirer._

* * *

Neutral P.O.V

Across London, Lestrade was looking at a dead body, "Sherlock will love this. He's been complaining about the lack of cases for weeks, and when he does get one 'it's not interesting'."

He dialed the detective's number, and told him, "We've got a good case for you. Doesn't seem too blatantly obvious, at least for us anyway."  
He expected him to ask for the street name, but was greeted with, "Go away. I've already got a case, and mind you it's hard, so don't call me."  
Lestrade replied, "Can't you just have a quick look. This 'case' of yours might have to wait. What is it, anyway?"  
Sherlock snapped, "I'm on a time limit, thank you very much. And this case... ...well, let's just say my only lead is angels."  
Then, he promptly hung up, and Lestrade brought his phone, into his line of vision, curious about this 'case with a time limit'.

"So, when will that freak be here?" Sally asked.

"He's not coming apparently, he's 'on a case'."

Sally frowned. Well, at least he wouldn't be there to annoy her.  
Meanwhile, Lestrade was thinking about angels. Sherlock's lead made him remember something. Recently, he had seen stone angels around town, and he had sworn some of them hadn't been there before.

* * *

 **Dun dun dun!**

 **I'm so sorry about the timing of this chapter. I would say I was busy, but honestly I was just watching Doctor Who and browsing Tumblr.  
Sorry!  
Anyway, I'll try to write the next chapter soon. This one was short, but I wanted to get it out as soon as possible so you could enjoy.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Hey Guys!**

 **I warned you. Here is a really overly late chapter. No sense making a long author's note.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 3

John's P.O.V

Considering he was bound, gagged and blindfolded, John probably wouldn't rate the day in his top 5. After Sherlock had left 221B, he had felt a sharp pain to the back of his head, had uneasy dreams, then woken up to being kidnapped in an unknown location. That was only in the top 20, if you only counted his days on a battlefield and his time with Sherlock. He had been kidnapped before, most notably when a crazy Chinese Circus lady had threatened to kill his ex-girlfriend, when he was decked out in explosives by Moriarty, and when he had almost been burnt to crisp in a bonfire on the 4th of November, but that cold feeling of dread never ceased.

He started thinking about how he would escape. There was no use wondering who kidnapped him. The best thing to do was escape and find out who did it by punching them in the face. He pulled on his bonds. No use. He could tell he was tied to some sort of steel pole, and his bindings were attached there. He tried to get up on his tied feet, but no use. The war doctor thought there was probably no one else in the room, because they would've seen him trying to escape. Maybe if he made noise someone would notice, but he heard no traffic noises outside, suggesting he was not in London or any other big city. Or he was just in a soundproof room. Either way, no pedestrians would take notice of his attempts to make noise.

His thoughts were cut short when he heard someone enter the room. He immediately went limp in an attempt to make it seem he was still unconscious. But, it probably wouldn't work, considering they're entering the room in the first place, which would mean they had some way of knowing he was awake, such as a security camera.  
"Mr John Watson, your efforts convince me you are asleep are not needed. You seem to know that as well, so I advise you to stop trying," a voice chided. It was as deep and smooth as chocolate, and certainly one he had not heard before.

The voice continued, "Well, Mr Watson. Are you enjoying your stay? I spent a lot of time setting this up, and I wouldn't want to think my efforts had been... ...wasted."  
Whoever it was was definitely not one to provide a good first impression. Getting kidnapped wasn't his favourite way to meet a new person.  
"Oh, that's right. You can't reply. A shame, but I like to make sure my visitors are as comfortable as possible. Anyway, you'll be meeting my other visitor soon, so sit tight and wait. I'd advise you to get some rest. After all, tomorrow's going to be a big day. Your little Sherlock Holmes only has three days to solve this, otherwise I'm afraid you'll won't have a chance to say goodbye."

John felt a pain against his head, just as he had felt when he had been kidnapped, and went unconscious.

Clara's P.O.V

Clara had never felt fear like this. It was worse than anything she had ever felt, even during her adventures with the Doctor. It was probably the sheer isolation, knowing that no-one was here to save you, and that you were at the complete mercy of the kidnapper. If he wanted her dead, then she would die without anyone else knowing. She was completely and utterly alone. She couldn't see anything, and her mouth was gagged. Her arms and legs were bound and her heart was heavy. But there was still hope. She could escape, or the Doctor would save her. It would be fantastic to subdue her jailer, and present him in a possibly slightly beaten package at the police station.

So, how would she do it? From what she could glean, she was attached to a metal pole, and the floor was carpeted. The companion could try to make noise, but it was likely no-one would hear her. To fully take advantage of her surroundings, she would have to be able to see, and it was quite clear that she was blindfolded. It was an impossible situation. Well, for an impossible girl. Seemed fair.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, as well as footsteps on a soft surface. She went stiff, then relaxed, her heart beating fast in her ears. She would have to pretend to be asleep to prolong her situation at the moment. Sure, it could be someone setting her free, but it could also be her executioner.

"Ah, Miss Clara Oswald. It would be much easier for both you and me if you dropped the act. I'm a busy man, and have no time for such things," a voice berated her. It was unlike anything she had heard before, and decided if it was colour, it would be a dark, thick brown. Whoever it was had already seen through her little performance.

"Now, you better get a little rest, my dearie. That Doctor has three days to save you, before your final breath, and tomorrow will bring a new day, and possibly a new ally for you. Remember, three days, and your time is up.

Then felt a burning pain to the back of her head, and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Clara woke up, she immediately noticed three things. Firstly, she was unbound, her vision clear and voice free. Secondly, she was in some sort of a hotel room, except all the furniture had been removed and there was no door in sight. Thirdly, there was a man in the corner, slumped over and seemingly asleep. She rushed over to him and shook his shoulders, and as he regained full watchfulness, she asked, "Hello? Are you okay?" She was shocked at how rugged her voice sounded. He opened his eyes, then inspected the room through narrowed eyes, and finally settled on her.

"Uh... ...yeah. Where are we? And who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Clara Oswald, and I'm not sure where we are. There was this pain to my head, then I was bound, then this voice..." she trailed off, remembering her predicament.

"Well, then, it seems we're in the same boat. I felt the pain, and was bound, and also heard that voice, if you're describing what I think you are. My name is John Watson, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She fell back, "J-John Watson. Like the partner of Sherlock Holmes? But..."  
"Yep, John Watson, in the flesh."

"But... ...that's not possible. How...? It's supposed to be fiction..."  
John's furrowed his brow, "What do mean. I'm real, if you can't tell."

Clara got up and started pacing the room. Suddenly she asked, "Which century to you live in?"  
The question caught him off guard, but he got up and replied, "21st, of course. When did you think I lived?"

She looked at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief, "I was absolutely certain it was set in the 19th and 20th century!"  
She held the stare for a long time, until John responded, "I live in the 21st. And what do you mean 'set'?"

"The novels of course. By Arthur Conan Doyle. Are you posing as Watson? Or... ...are you telling the truth...?" she uttered it so slowly, like she couldn't even begin to consider the possibility. Her head was reeling, and she was so confused. Was it possible a modern-day Holmes and Watson existed?

"What on earth are you talking about? What novels? Who is this Conan Doyle Person?"

Clara sighed, bowed her head, then looked him again in the eyes, "I think it would be best if you told me everything from the beginning. Oh, and do you believe in aliens?"

* * *

 **I was fully reminded that English is stupid when I had to use "was was" in that sentence. "Ghoti" doesn't help... (High five if you got that inside joke!) I also stopped writing in the middle of a sentence and forgot what I was going to say when I came back... Yeah, first world problems, I know.**

 **How'd you like that little change of perspective? I'll do it again soon. Maybe.**

 **It was hard to get their characters right in this chapter, so I apologize if they are a little out of character.  
** **I tried to make this as long as possible, but I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, and that ending, in my opinion, nicely rounded out the chapter.**

 **Side note: I finally convinced myself to watch Fullmetal Alchemist! It's awesome, and, like many people say, it doesn't seem slow and boring. I like the thorough analysis of Ed and Al's characters, and the interesting moral dilemmas and situations the characters face. Just my opinion, though. WHERE HAS THIS ANIME BEEN ALL MY LIFE?! Only up to 36, though, and it's been 4 days.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey Guys!**

 **I'm going to treat you to an extra long chapter to make up for the long breaks! I'm tired, but I think you really deserve this... Really, I should be doing my homework, which is a poem that invokes an emotion, but I really can't be bothered... I've been doing less and less writing in these author's notes... Maybe it's because I just want to get it written. I love have an ellipsis on every single one of my sentences!**

 **To the person, Jas, who wrote that review, you don't have an account so I can't reply. I just finished the original and the first movie (in which Winry Rockbell's feelings are completely ignored), and now I'm watching Brotherhood as I type (literally). Only onto 3rd Brotherhood episode, and I think I'm preferring the original. This one feels a bit more rushed, and there are a few fight scenes that seemed they were crammed in there for no particular reason. Some people say that the original is boring, but I find it a good mix between humour, fights, serious/sad moments and just plain moral ambiguity and dilemmas. I'm not sure if this happens in Brotherhood, but it's interesting to see Ed and how he slightly blames himself for character deaths that had nothing to do with him.**

 **Okay, I've been rambling for far too long. People who don't watch FMA will have no idea what I'm talking about. And I claimed that my author's notes were getting shorter *scoffs*. Or maybe it's my plight to make it seem that the chapter is long but it's actually 99% author's notes...**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 4

Sherlock's P.O.V

"So, angels. Does that bear any significance to you?" Sherlock asked impatiently, eager to save John.  
The Doctor was deep in thought, and realized 5 five seconds later that the question had been directed towards him, "Yes, actually. Now, Sherlock, how many disappearances have been happening around London recently?"

The detective narrowed his eyes, "More than usual, actually. I don't specialize in such cases myself, so I've haven't had any insight into them. What does this have to with angels?"  
"How many stone statues, most likely stone angels, have you seen?"  
"Again, more than usual," he replied, wondering why he was being barraged with meaningless questions.  
"And that is where we will look."

The Doctor snatched the newspaper off the table and flicked through it, until he found a bold headline describing a disappearance. He skimmed through the article and shouted, "Ah ha! In a graveyard. We seem to have our first lead."  
"In a graveyard? Do you expect me to believe that stone angels have been kidnapping people?"  
"I don't expect you to believe it. It's what's really happening."

The gallifreyian rushed out the door, followed by Sherlock, who grabbed his coat off the coat hanger and hastily put it on.

* * *

"So, why are we investigating a kidnapping, might I ask?" Sherlock questioned the Doctor as they rushed through the busy streets of London.

"The thing that the note was referring to was the weeping angels. Now's the time you start believing in aliens, by the way," the Doctor answered.

"And what are weeping angels? You better not be wasting my time, 'Doctor'. You might not have noticed, but we're on a deadline!" Sherlock shouted over the sound of traffic.

"Don't worry, I'm certain. As for weeping angels, well, you'll find out soon."

The detective huffed. He hated to be deprived of knowledge, and for some reason, it was hard to deduct anything from the strange man. They were travelling towards the nearest graveyard, he noticed. Have stone angels really been coming alive and kidnapping people? No, it was impossible. A madman's ramblings. And yet...

"Here we are," the Doctor cut off Sherlock's train of thought. They were in front of the big gates of a cemetery, open, but not necessarily inviting. He made a mental note of the location if needed later. It was a quiet little place, with trees and graves dotted around.

He followed his temporary companion into the lot, who made a beeline for the nearest angel statue. It was cracked, but seemingly stable.

"This is the statue the 12-year-old girl's mother swore that moved. As you can tell, it is on it's pedestal, hands covering it's face. Well, look at this picture," the Doctor flipped back to the article in the newspaper he had brought. It was an image of the same angel, but it had it's arms outstretched, halfway off the pedestal. Next to it was a picture of the sight they saw now.

"So, do I have your attention, consulting detective?"

* * *

Neutral P.O.V

Lestrade stood with his arms crossed, looking at Sherlock and the strange man beside him, "I thought you had no interest in the case. Well, anyway, where's John?"

"He went to visit his sister Harry for three days. The man beside me is my client who decided to accompany me in John's absence," Sherlock replied, rehearsing the story they had conceived on the way to Scotland Yard.

"Hmph. So if this man is your client, then why are you here?" Lestrade asked.  
"If you don't mind, we would like to see some files regarding the recent kidnapping in the graveyard."

"Those files are classified, so unless you have permission..."

Sherlock scoffed, "Classified? What do you mean?"  
"You can't look at them unless you're working on the case or you have a position of power."

"I'm the world's only consulting detective. Of course I can see them."  
"Apparently not."

Sherlock growled and stormed out of Scotland Yard, followed by the mysterious stranger.

"Was that the freak? Has he decided to work on the case?" Sally called from the other room.

"No. He was trying to look at some classified files. He's been acting strange lately..." Greg mused.

* * *

Clara's P.O.V

"So you're saying you're from a parallel dimension," John stated.  
"Not really parallel, rather just different," Clara corrected.  
"Okay, a different dimension where Sherlock and I don't exist, except for a famous series of books."  
"Household names."  
"And that you travel with a multi-faced two-hearted alien with a time machine in the form of an old police box and stop monsters from destroying or invading the Earth."  
"Pretty much sums it up."

John was skeptical, to say the least. He, himself, didn't particularly believe in aliens, but he had a small sneaking suspicion that- maybe -she was telling the truth.  
"Do you have anything to back up your claim?" he asked, curious to see if she had any evidence.

"...No... But you've got to believe me. How else would a mysterious man kidnap you, in your own apartment, no less, and get you all the way out here? Wherever 'all the way out here' is, anyway," she pointed out.

"Hmph. Maybe it's plausible. But the whole 'different dimension thing' is a little crazy," John considered.  
"Well, the Doctor mentioned it once in passing, something about some sort of different dimension where one of his old companions lives, but he never broached the subject again, and it seemed clear he didn't want to talk about it," the companion mentioned.

"Okay. I'm not going to believe this alien stuff, but I'll acknowledge it as a possible part of the world, so if I see some sort of alien or monster or anything, I won't be scared and confused and lost. I'll chose to believe it if it proves itself," he concluded.

"Fair enough," Clara responded, and the two shook hands.  
John nodded, "So now we have all the alien stuff out the way, let's share theories on this kidnapping. I have no major enemies, other than Moriarty, and something tells me it wasn't him who conducted this. You?"

"Well, there's always Missy, who's the same species as the Doctor- Time Lord -but she probably wouldn't stage this. She wants to be master of this universe, and not any others, unless I've been reading her wrong. The Doctor and I have plenty of new, old and unknown enemies out to get us, but very few could accomplish and stage something as big as this. They probably just want to kill the Doctor and I, and not kidnap me and make the Doctor save me. Anyway, we're looking for someone with interest in both my universe and yours," she reasoned.

"Okay then, someone with power, reason to kidnap, intent to watch Sherlock and the Doctor save us and interest in both dimensions. That leaves us with virtually no options, at least on my side, and I presume yours. Besides that voice... ...it was foreign to me," he admitted.

"Yeah, same for me. Who could it be...?" she wondered.

John looked around, "It doesn't seem that there's any chance of escaping. I don't have my gun..."  
"And you won't need it."  
"Why not?"  
"As long as you're with me, unless they will kill us otherwise, no-one dies."

John tilted his head, "You have an interesting view. I was a war doctor, you know."  
She looked him straight in the eyes, "A war doctor? Hmm... This is bit silly, but in that sense, you remind me of my old boyfriend. He was a soldier."  
"Old? What happened?" he asked.  
"Oh... He's dead. Don't feel sorry for me, though. I hate it when people say that. It's not like it was their fault," she sighed.  
"Oh. Well, then, I guess that I shouldn't have asked," he frowned.

"No, it's okay. And all that will do is make you aware for the future," she smiled sadly.

* * *

Doctor's P.O.V

The Doctor crossed his arms, "So, maybe asking Scotland Yard wasn't the best idea, was it?"  
Sherlock scoffed, "How would I know it was classified? Anyway, what's the plan now?"

They were standing outside Scotland Yard, after their failed attempt to glean more information from the angel case.

The alien sighed, "Let's look closer at all these disappearances. Maybe we can find more there, and possibly a case that isn't classified. Anyway, what happened is pretty much as plain as day."

"Well maybe it's not to me, Mr Alien Expert. You've had however long to study and learn about these things, and I've had about two hours."

"758 years."  
"What?"  
"That's how long I've had to study and learn about aliens, at least since I borrowed the TARDIS."

Sherlock looked at him incredulously, "Surely you're human. You look exactly like one."  
"No, you look Time Lord. Learn the difference."  
"You're an alien? An immortal alien?"

The Doctor shook his head, "An alien, but certainly not immortal. There's this thing called regeneration where, when I die, I can save myself by transforming into another person, different body, face, personality, but with the same memories. But, if I die before I can regenerate, I'm dead. Also, I'm only supposed to have 13 regenerations, but I sort of cheated when I died for the last time, as I got 13 more."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Okay then. Enough of this talk. We need to save John and Clara."  
"Right."

* * *

Neutral P.O.V

There was an aroma of rotting flesh in the air. The sun was low on the horizon, and the woman in black strolled up to the rendezvous spot. Her blonde hair was untied, bouncing with each step taken. The red desert sand crunched under her boots as she walked up to the two men holding a black coffin.

"So this is her body?" she asked them.  
They replied quickly and without hesitation, "Yes, mistress"  
"Good. Now, tell my husband we have the corpse of River Song, the woman born to kill the Doctor."

* * *

 **So, how'd you like that delicious cliffhanger? This was fun to write, and I thought I'd be kind and show you a little sneak peak of what's to come. Just a warning; it's going to be a rollercoaster.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey Guys!**

 **There is an ancient legend... ...that one day... ...MythicDragonRider will update her stories... ...at the expected time... I would say sorry but I've already said sorry about a thousand times so, yeah.**

 **Something I will say sorry for is that last cliffhanger. Well, not really. You're probably not going to find any insight to it in this one. Now, at the end of each chapter, sometimes I might be able to fit in a sneak peak... Not this one, though. This one is going to be fun by itself.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

John's P.O.V

The first thing John noticed was he was hungry. Ravenously hungry. His stomach growled in displeasure, and he knew he had to eat something soon. The second thing was that he was alone. It seemed Clara had disappeared after their conversation and eventual need of sleep. The third was he was bound again. Oh, joy. But, for some reason, he could see, amounting to his notice of the lack of a certain brunette. He needed to talk with her again. After she had turned his world view upside down, there were things that needed to be discussed.

Now he was not blindfolded, he examined his surroundings. It was a plain rectangular room with creamy walls and a beige carpet. He was bound to a painted white heater, with strips of cloth and ropes. This certainly different to the room last time, even though he was blindfolded he had been attached to a metal pole and there had been a concrete floor. It occurred to him that possibly his captors had to move constantly to avoid public attention. That irritated him. There were no windows, and two oaken doors- one at the side of the room and one beside him. There was no point attempted to open it, his hands were firmly in place. Anyway, he didn't even know if it went anywhere useful.

He noticed the ceiling had multiple cracks and flaws. For not the first time, he wondered where he was. Again, he heard no traffic. John reasoned that they were trying to stay away from the public. But the room he was in was dingy, dismal. It reminded him of a hotel he had stayed in with Sherlock on a case, but without the furniture. Could it be an abandoned building? Not abandoned for long, as it had only just begun to fall apart. And there were no security cameras, unlike the last room he had been in with Clara. That would explain their lack of attention to his awakening.

The war doctor began planning his escape, to keep his mind occupied. He doubted that the door next to him led anywhere useful. Why would they put so near to escape. Unless they were completely confident in their abilities to keep him captive, it would be foolish. As his mind whirled with plans and strategies to get to the opposite door, his hunger got worse. His stomach ached horribly, and he wondered if they would even bother to feed him or just let him starve. If he truly had 3 days, of which there were 2 now, if his internal clock was correct, then his hunger wouldn't kill him. Nor thirst, but it would come close. His throat was parched, after all. He would endure. And at the deadline, he would either be killed or be saved. He honestly would prefer the latter.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V

Sherlock was annoyed at this Doctor person. 758? Impossible. He looked, at most, in his 60s. And, besides, he still didn't properly believe in 'aliens'. He hadn't seen one, not a proper one at least. Stone angels and immortal time-travelling 'time lords' didn't count. After all, it couldn't be true. And those books, they had seemed real, but he was certain they were forged or fake.

They had spent the entire night pouring over article after article, with cases classified or closed. But, he didn't need to sleep. Not when John was in danger of being killed. The Doctor looked equally determined, and Sherlock admitted, he had been kind of leading the case so far. But, soon, he would take the reins, and they would be much more productive because of it. He thought.

Suddenly, the Doctor shot up as if been tasered, then shouted to no one in particular, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth Cook!" What? What was that supposed to mean? Did it have something to do with their case. He looked expectantly at nothing, but hoping he had been heard by the person he had wanted to contact. Could...  
They heard the bang of a new letter and raced to where they had heard it- the kitchen. The Doctor grabbed the note out of the air and grabbed Sherlock, showing it to him.

 _Are you enjoying your partnership? I'd certainly hope so.  
Your companions are rather unharmed- but quite famished and thirsty. Therefore, I would not hesitate to say you should hurry. 2 days left._

 _So, since you've completed my first little puzzle, I'll give you the means to solve the next. This one will bring back memories.  
 **Scarlet  
** Now then, what could that mean?  
_

 _With love, your secret admirer._

* * *

General P.O.V

Of course, Harry had chosen the worst time to visit her brother. But, she didn't know about this whole charade. And even if she had, she would've visited anyway, in her grief. For the past few weeks, she had attempted to make up with Clara, and it had certainly been working. She had never felt better. But, then her girlfriend had gone and gotten herself murdered.

After the initial shock and horror of discovering a dead body, and calling the cops, she had went to the only person who she knew could trust in uncovering the secrets of the murder. John. Well, more like her brother's companion. She had never actually met him in person, but from what she had heard of him from the news and her brother, he was pretty exceptional. So, she had went to the famed 221B apartment, and knocked on the door.

* * *

 **Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry.**

 **Okay, then. Here I am disappearing for a millennium and coming back to show you chapter scraps. Yayyy... I just wanted to get this out. I have no excuse. Just me being lazy and loafing around, eating chocolate and watching Australian Netflix. I'm Aussie, by the way. Summer is coming. And that means 40 degrees Celsius (104 Fahrenheit for all you Americans out there) days. More yayyy!**

 **On a more positive note, I've finally gotten off my ass and started to watch Hetalia. Yep, taking on all popular anime I should've watched by now one at a time. It's fantastic. They should really make 2p canon. Nevermind.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Author's Note

**Hey Guys!**

 **Okay, I might as well get this over with to start, then explain why later.  
I'm putting this fic on hiatus.**

 **This is mostly because I have no inspiration anymore. Every time I try to write this, it's a chore, and even though I want to finish it, I find myself unable to write it. I will return to this, one day, but it will likely be far away.**

 **I'm updating really late, and the updates are too short, or really suck, or both. I started this fic because I wanted to write it. Now, I'm not so sure.**

 **I might update something Doctor Who or Sherlock related in the future, but honestly I'm just writing Hetalia at the moment. If you're interested in that stuff, then go read it! If not, I'm really sorry.**

 **Best wishes to you in the future,**

 **MythicDragonRider.**


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